Infinity
by Duchess Winna
Summary: This isn't a dream, and she won't let it go. Ann has the world ahead of her now, limitless and neverending. Charlie x Ann, TSFT spoilers, oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Libba Bray owns these characters; I do not.**

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She sits backstage far after opening night of the show, echoing the applause in her mind. She sees the faces of the audience, young and old, all of whom stood in awe of her as she sang. The curtain parts, and she's surprised to see Charlie standing there, walking over to her. They haven't had a chance to speak after the show; she wants to congratulate him on such a successful musical, and maybe something more if she's brave, but he speaks first.

"You did beautifully up there," he says to her. His face breaks into a boyish smile as his voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell the other girls, but you were by far the best."

His praise makes her exuberant, and her smile positively shines on him and anyone else that could be looking on. "Thank you," she says, and the words seem to say so much more, so much that she is afraid to say but knows she must. Magic can't help her now, this is her own battle to fight. And it's entirely delightful to think that she doesn't need magic, that she is more than capable on her own.

He glances at her as if he too wishes to say something, and it gives her just enough courage to take a few steps closer to him. She can hardly control her thoughts as they flash from fantasy to reality and back again, and he seems hardly steadier as he visibly trembles. "You're beautiful, you know," he tells her, and the spell is broken.

She backs away as quickly as she can out of an instinctual reaction to those sort of words, but he goes after her and grabs hold of her arm. "Why is that hard for you to hear?" he questions. She looks down, afraid to meet his eyes. She's reminded painfully of why she almost gave up this career in the first place, because the possibility that she could have succeeded would be far, far sweeter than trying and failing. She raises her head, just a little, but it makes a difference. She won't back down now, not on this.

She meets his eyes. "It isn't true," she says, with an air of resigned honesty. His face twists in sympathy as he takes her hands, tracing the backs with his fingers. She likes the steady movement of it, but even more the warmth his fingers hold. She relaxes a little, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, he does. "It is true," he whispers huskily to her. "Maybe not in the traditional sense," he allows. "But when you sing…when you laugh. When you smile." He grins. His hand raises a few centimeters, as if he means to touch her face, but then shyly backs down. "You're lovely. You shouldn't deny that, ever." He says this vehemently, truthfully.

It's the first time a man has ever said this to her, and it seems so strange, as if this is a pleasant dream that she needs to find a way out of to spare herself more heartbreak. But she doesn't want to find a way out of this, not this time. This time it's different, it isn't like Tom. Because he sees her, Ann Bradshaw, not Nan or a distant member of Russian nobility. This isn't a dream, and if it is, she won't let it go.

There are a lot of things she could say to him now, but she isn't pressed for time. She doesn't have the Realms to save or inner demons to fight or cousins to serve. She carefully, slowly places her arms (that haven't been cut ever since she joined the theatre) around his neck, giving him ample time to leave if he chooses. He doesn't. She leans into him, breathing in the smell of him, an inexplicable mixture of the outdoors and the indoors, of music and the stage and something that she can't quite place, but is entirely intoxicating. She leans closer and tries to place her finger on it, and eventually she realizes he smells like honesty. Like goodness. It's a beautiful scent, one she could breathe in forever and never get tired of.

She could kiss him now. She could. If she was bolder, she would. But she has time, and she has a future. For now, she's content to lean into his arms and replay the conversation in her head, happy to think that she's beautiful. No, happy to believe that she's beautiful. Happy to _know _she is. His embrace is warm, and he's smart enough not to ruin the moment by saying anything else.

She wonders what she would tell him if she could. Would she mention the Realms? All she's done there? Maybe someday, she decides wistfully. Once he knows her better. After all, they have time. Her cheek rubs against his neck and a blush comes to her face from the contact. She chances a look at him and he's blushing too, and she thinks she's never seen anyone more lovable.

"Thank you," she says again, before reluctantly pulling free. This cannot last forever, even if she wishes it could. Before she leaves the room, she glances back toward him, and she sees his smile, and the future seems bright before her. Time is no longer her enemy, it is her friend. She smiles back.

There are places for her to go now, not down but up. She feels light with the happiness of it all. She has hopes. She can become as famous and as beloved as Lily Trimble. She can perform all over the world, to Felicity in Paris and Gemma in New York. There are possibilities for her beyond that of a governess. She thinks that is a kind of magic.

Charlie's face appears in her mind, and she can't help a smile coming to her face. He, too, is a possibility, and a lovely one. It's one that she will fight for, even though she isn't a fighter. She can become one. It's something she has learned.

As she walks down the street, she twirls with happiness, because even though it's raining and she has no umbrella or raincoat, she has possibilities. And those are infinitely better.


End file.
